


In Between

by mangochi



Series: In Between [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, First Kiss, M/M, Missing Scene, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangochi/pseuds/mangochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for Into Darkness. In between the moments, there lie the unseen truths. Missing scenes between Jim and Spock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Currently in process of moving my fics here, ahhaaaaa bear with me please.

Jim's hand was trembling when it left Spock's shoulder, and he suspected that the human was even more unstable than he appeared. He listened to Jim's stumbling footsteps as he left, and gazed at the still face of Christopher Pike. He had respected the man as his captain and admiral and felt a certain degree of grief at his death, but he knew that, to Jim, Pike had been that and so much more.

A curious wrenching sensation caught him off guard, and he paused to take stock of himself. Spock knew what sorrow was. He had experienced it many times over on the day his planet was destroyed, he was well familiar with the deep ache it created in his chest, hollowing out his ribs with pain. This was the first time, however, that he felt sorrow for someone else.

As medics began to swarm, Spock pushed himself to his feet and went in search of his captain. The smell of burning flesh and smoke was heavy in the air, ashes and embers wafting about his boots. Broken glass crunched underfoot, and he was painfully reminded of the fragility of human life. Pike's death still lingered like phantom fingerprints upon his mind, the final frightened whispers echoing insistently behind his eyes. He wondered if he would ever be able to forget the sudden darkness that had snuffed out those flickering thoughts.

He found Jim alone, not far from the ravaged conference room, facing a startlingly pristine wall and leaning against it with his forehead braced on his forearm. As Spock approached, he saw Jim wave aside a medic without moving, his harsh tones carrying well over the tumult.

"I said I don't need it!"

"Sir, I must insist-" the medic pressed on doggedly.

"Back off-"

"Captain." Spock placed a hand placatingly on Jim's shoulder to counter his quietly admonishing tone. The man stiffened beneath him, his hand balling into a fist against the wall, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"You are dismissed," Spock said firmly to the medic.

"But-"

"I shall ensure that Captain Kirk is cared for." He hoped. Jim could be obstinate at the best of times, and now...Spock was not certain if he could handle a highly distressed Jim.

The medic gave up and bustled off to help a more demanding individual, and Spock returned to the task at hand. He realized he was still touching Jim's shoulder and lowered his hand self-consciously. Jim was still facing the wall, his silhouette too still and tense to bode well.

"Captain," Spock said quietly.

"Not captain," Jim said hollowly, the words automatic and distracted.

Spock waited a moment before gently saying, "You are the captain now, Jim."

"No." The word ground out roughly, filled with broken windows and gunfire.

"Jim-"

" _No,_ damn it!" Jim whirled around, and Spock saw that his eyes were reddened with more than smoke. He blinked, taken aback by the vehemence of Jim's glare, and took a step back in appeasement. "I said no," Jim repeated, his voice shaking in anger.

"I did not mean to distress you."

Jim snorted derisively. "Whatever. Just." He swiped at his eyes furiously and shook his head. "Just leave me alone."

Spock hesitated. "I...do not believe you should be alone right now."

"Spock-"

"I will not leave you alone," Spock said, more firmly this time. He recognized Jim's expression now, the anguish suppressed behind a stony face, how he held himself so tightly that nothing could escape, because if it did….he would break.

It was how he must have looked then, when Vulcan had folded in on itself and perished. It had been so long ago, but it still hurt every day, every moment he breathed and knew its loss. Nyota had comforted him then, when no one else could, and now Jim had no one.

He reached out before he could rationalize away the urge and placed both hands on Jim's shoulders, stepping in close. Jim stiffened, his hands coming up automatically to grip Spock's arms. "What are you doing?" Jim said tersely, and Spock felt a prickle of anxiety.

How had Nyota done this? Spock could remember the moment clearly, yet this didn't feel anything remotely similar to the previous situation. He despaired for a second at his utter inability to comfort and forced himself to gaze calmly at Jim. "It is all right," he said quietly, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Jim's. It was the most intimate action he had ever initiated, but rather than discomfort, he felt...right.

Jim gave a hoarse laugh utterly devoid of humor, but did not, inexplicably, pull away. Instead, he seemed to lean forward into the touch, the tension in his shoulders melting away slightly. "Nothing's all right, Spock."

"That is not what I meant." Spock paused, searching for the right words. Jim's forehead was hot beneath his, distracting him from his thought process. "You do not need to...pretend, Jim. I understand."

"You understand," Jim repeated incredulously. "You."

"Me," Spock responded, his stomach giving that odd wrench again. "I do understand, Jim."

Jim fell silent, perhaps just now realizing what Spock meant, and his hands tightened on Spock's upper arms, as much to restrain him as it was to keep him close. "He's gone, Spock," Jim finally whispered, and it was then that his voice broke. "He's _gone._ "

Spock's hands moved instinctively to grip the sides of Jim's face, his fingertips mere centimeters away from his psi-points. It would be so easy to meld with Jim, to soothe and calm and smooth away jagged spikes of distress. It would be so simple...and yet Spock hesitated, sensing that Jim needed something more. A form of release, perhaps. Burying these wounds would only encourage them to fester, eating away at Jim's mind until they overtook him. Spock could not allow that to happen.

He pulled Jim closer instead, closing his eyes when Jim's hands shakily moved to cover his. They stood like that for some time, Spock listening to the sounds of Jim's ragged breaths.

He heard an odd choking sound and opened his eyes in concern to see Jim's own eyes squeezed shut, face contorted in an effort to hold in his sobs. Spock stood helplessly for a second, instinct battling with severe self-doubt, before Jim's shoulders jerked in an involuntary spasm.

Spock abandoned all logic ordering him to immediately abort the effort and tilted his head down, pressing his lips against Jim's in a brief, light touch. Jim stilled, shock overcoming his grief momentarily, and Spock inwardly grimaced. Perhaps he should not have done that. He recalled the action being….comforting at the time when he had received it, although it was probable that it did not mean the same thing to Jim…..

He pulled away reluctantly and studied Jim warily for any signs of negative response. His eyes were open now, fixing Spock with a dumbfounded stare, a sheen of unshed tears glimmering over the blue irises.

Then Jim surged forward, hands tugging at Spock desperately, and closed the gap between them once more. It was not so much a kiss as it was a plea, and Spock answered, allowing Jim to take what he needed and more. He grunted with discomfort once when Jim's teeth scraped too roughly against his lip, and he tasted the coppery edge of his own blood.

He tasted something else as well, something salty trickling past the corner of his mouth. Only when Jim's arms moved to encircle Spock's chest in an uncertain embrace did he finally realize that Jim was crying. He withdrew again, sliding his own hands around Jim's shoulders to hesitantly return the unfamiliar gesture, and felt his heart quiver when Jim's head dropped down to his shoulder, muffling his sobs against Spock's shirt.

After a few minutes, Spock began rubbing small circles against Jim's back, recalling dimly his mother doing something similar when he had been very young. Jim seemed to take it well, relaxing into the touch, and Spock continued with growing confidence.

"Sorry," he heard Jim gasp, and he was unsure as to whether he should respond. "I'm so sorry….God…."

A medic poked his head curiously around the corner at the end of the corridor, eyes widening at the sight of the two officers embracing. Spock merely stared back over Jim's shoulder, challenging the man to make a statement, and after a moment, the medic gave a sympathetic nod and disappeared.

Spock turned his attention back to Jim, all too aware of how fragile the man suddenly seemed. From the moment he had first laid eyes on a certain rebellious cadet full of grand ideals and bravado, he had thought Jim Kirk to be an utter incomprehension, an anomaly among his acquaintances. Here was a man larger than life, capable of more than anyone knew, and now he was breaking in front of Spock.

"What do you need?" Spock murmured, with the irrational notion that, whatever it was, Spock would give it to him.

Jim did not answer at first, and Spock wondered if he had heard, and then he heard the reply, quiet and hesitant against his shoulder. "Stay with me."

It was more than a request to remain in the corridor, Spock knew. It was even more than asking him to remain as Jim's first officer. It was asking for….more, a friendship, a relationship that would perhaps last for a lifetime, and Spock would give it to Jim, if it was what he desired.

He nodded and tightened his embrace, aware that he was solely holding Jim together, and something in him rose at the prospect.

It did not matter that Jim was breaking, Spock decided, it did not matter if he was already broken.

Because Spock would always be there to put him back together.


	2. Chapter 2

He hadn't expected Spock to come after him. It just wasn't something he thought Spock would ever _do_ , but there he was, his hand on Jim's shoulder in a gesture that was so completely human. If Jim wasn't on the verge of shattering, he'd make a bigger deal out of the accomplishment.

He took a deep breath, trying to find some semblance of control in the wreckage inside him. Something trembled violently in his chest, on the verge of tearing itself to pieces, and all he could think was that he couldn't let it break. Not in front of Spock. How could Spock even handle it, keeping everything so tightly under wraps like he did? As much as Jim hated that aspect of him, he almost envied that about his first officer.

If he could be cold like that, he wouldn't be feeling this way now.

Spock didn't seem particularly cold now, though, his hand still heavy on Jim's shoulder while he dismissed the medic. Jim felt a twinge of guilt about snapping at the guy. He had only been trying to help, after all, but Jim didn't want help. He wanted Pike back.

Spock's hand slipped off his shoulder, and Jim found himself missing the pressure. "Captain," he heard, and the pain returned, clenching around his heart and squeezing until he was sure it was going to burst.

"Not captain," he mumbled automatically

"You are the captain now, Jim."

"No." He wasn't. How could he be anymore? He had lost the Enterprise, his crew, he was Pike's first officer now, except that Pike was-

"Jim-"

" _No,_ damn it!" he burst out, frustration and anger and grief hardening his voice. He spun around to face Spock, glaring, trying to drive him away. He didn't want Spock to see this, didn't want anyone to know how much he was hurting. Nobody had ever cared before that he could hurt, could feel pain, nobody except for Pike had ever given a damn.

Spock looked slightly surprised, eyebrows lifting minutely as he stepped back. Jim tried not to ignore the pang he felt at that. "I said no," he heard himself say, and mentally kicked himself for being a dick.

"I did not mean to distress you," Spock said quietly, still watching Jim with that indiscernible expression.

Of course he hadn't. He was only trying to help, in his own awkward, socially inept way, and it wasn't his fault that Jim just couldn't put up with it right now. "Whatever. Just." He rubbed his eyes, smearing dust and stinging sweat across his face. "Just leave me alone." He was so tired, tired of losing people and being helpless and of being _tired_.

Spock hesitated, and for a moment Jim thought he had succeeded to finally chasing him off. Then, defying his expectations in his typical way, Spock kept right on pushing. "I do not believe you should be alone right now."

Jim looked at him incredulously, pure exasperation breaking through his cloud of misery for a fleeting second. "Spock-"

"I will not leave you alone." Spock looked so calm at that moment, so serenely composed and controlled, that Jim wanted to punch him. He knew firsthand how badly that'd go down, though, and restrained himself to glaring sullenly.

Then Spock's hands were moving, hesitantly resting on his shoulders, and Jim stiffened, grabbing Spock's wrists warily. "What are you doing?"

"It is all right," Spock murmured, and he leaned forward until his forehead bumped against Jim's.

Jim was frozen, petrified with shock. Things had escalated very quickly from that single hand on his shoulder, and every rational thought had up and fled the second Spock's skin met his. He didn't know what to do, what he was supposed to do, but the physical presence of Spock was comforting in its own strange way. He let himself lean forward into the touch, allowing Spock to support his weight temporarily. It was almost a relief, after all this time to surrender himself in such a way. "Nothing's all right, Spock," he muttered, the bitterness in his own words sharp on his tongue.

"That is not what I meant." He could feel Spock's breath ghosting across his face. "You do not need to...pretend, Jim. I understand." His voice sounded lower this close, and Jim could feel the vibrations against his forehead when he spoke.

Jim felt like laughing and crying alternatively. "You understand," Jim repeated incredulously. "You." Spock was the last person he thought he'd ever hear that from, that damned phrase that nobody truly meant. Well, he'd heard it enough all his life. Everyone _understood_. Understood what it was like to grow up without a father, to grow up with anger and rejection and resentment, to be lost and directionless with no hope of any future. To lose the one father he'd ever had and be alone once more.

"Me," Spock replied, his voice so low and subdued that Jim had to strain to hear him. "I do understand, Jim."

It was then that Jim realized just how big of an ass he was being. He of all people should know that Spock wouldn't say something that trivial. When he said something, he meant it, because there was no point in saying it otherwise. Jim gripped Spock's arms tightly, as much of an apology he was able to give at the moment, and felt something crumbling away inside of him.

"He's gone, Spock." He could still see that crumpled body, those blank blue eyes. Feel the warmth of his skin that hadn't quite faded.

_It's going to be all right, son._

He had never thanked Pike, not once. Not for saving him from a hell of mediocrity, not for trusting him, giving him the Enterprise, saving his life, his career, for believing in him.

_I dare you..._

How could he have done what he did, seen what he said he saw in Jim? He wasn't worth the dust on the man's shoes, he was a broken lightbulb to Pike's sun, he could never be the man Pike wanted him to be, never be his father. He wasn't _great_ , he wasn't even good.

_I dare you to do better..._

Except that he hadn't, and Pike had died before Jim could even begin to try again.

"He's _gone_." He clenched his eyes shut, straining to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to crush him, bury him in pain and sorrow and _why_ , why did Pike have to die?

He dimly felt Spock's hands on the sides of his face and couldn't be bothered to brush him away. It felt good, in the soothing way that a blanket around his shoulders at night did. He reached up without thinking, covering the backs of Spock's hands with his palms, and clung on for dear life, hoping his fingers weren't shaking as badly as he thought they were. He needed this, needed someone to be here, to hold him together, he was going to break-there was no way he could hold it back. Already, the way was quivering, cracking.

_It's going to be all right._

No, no, it wasn't. He should have said something, should have _known_ , should have seen what John Harrison was trying to do, he should have stopped it.

Spock was pulling him closer, reeling him in determinedly, and Jim was powerless to resist. He allowed himself to be held against Spock's chest, feeling the swell of their chests against each other as they breathed. They were practically sharing air now, Spock's palms warming against his jaw.

He exhaled slowly, struggling to contain the pressure building within him, and couldn't stop a hitch that burst into a sob. _No no no, stop it_. He sucked in another breath, held it as long as he could. He couldn't do it, couldn't break. Pike would want him to be strong, to be _better_.

He felt Spock's hands flex against his face, holding him even more securely, and that made everything worse. He was losing it, flying apart right here in front of Spock.

Something brushed against his lips, more substantial than Spock's soft breaths, and _warm_.

His eyes flew open and he stared straight into Spock's eyes, incredibly close to his, and had they always been brown? Spock gazed back at him, seemingly just as lost and perplexed by his actions as he was, and that was so completely unfair that Jim grabbed his arms, digging his fingers into his biceps, and hauled him forward roughly.

He didn't mean to kiss Spock, or maybe he did, but he wasn't thinking straight and all he knew was that he needed something to hold on to, something to keep him together, because he knew that if he broke, he wouldn't be able to pick himself up and keep going like he had his entire life. This was different, this was losing everything he thought he had, losing someone who called him "son" and forgave him and believed in him when he didn't even believe in himself.

So he crushed his mouth to Spock's and took what he needed, and somehow Spock was giving it to him. He fumbled a little with the movements, but Jim wasn't looking for finesse or skill. He bit down on Spock's lower lip in a fit of anguished fury, angry at the world, at himself, at Spock for not leaving him when he asked. Spock made a small noise deep in his throat, his hands sliding back to grab at the back of Jim's head.

He was only half aware of the hot tears dripping from his face and into his mouth, mingling with the taste of Spock's blood. He felt a flicker of guilt about that, sliding his hands around Spock's back and leaning into him, tightening his arms around his chest. Spock was solid and _there_ , holding Jim up without seeming to realize it, and that, Jim realized, was what made him so incredible. He pressed his face into the crook between Spock's neck and shoulder, feeling the scrape of fabric against one cheek and breathing in Spock.

He felt Spock's arms encircling him, pulling their bodies flush together until they stood pressed from shoulder to knee. He could hear Spock breathing against his ear, his face turning to nuzzle against the side of his head.

"Sorry," he hiccuped, his throat wrecked by smoke and something harsher. He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for anymore, for being a jerk or kissing Spock or for crying. He didn't cry on principle, but the way he had completely broken down in front of Spock was utterly mortifying. "I'm so sorry….God…."

"What do you need?" he heard Spock whispering. Jim pressed his face deeper into Spock's shoulder, breathing in deeply, trying to remember this moment. It wouldn't happen again, he had already decided. It couldn't. But now, he was content to be held and comforted by the very last man he would have expected to offer it. Content enough to maybe voice the only thing he'd ever wanted, from Pike or his family or anyone else.

"Stay with me." He struggled to keep it from raising into a question, fearing that it would make him appear more of a wreck than he already was.

A rustle as Spock nodded silently and held him tighter, hard enough to almost hurt, and Jim welcomed it. He kept his eyes closed and let Spock crush him back together, because in the end, he was the only who could.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: More introspection in this scene, because I feel like I skimped a bit on the first couple of chapters. This was meant to be a back-burner fic, but I totally went all out on this chapter lol. All right, this scene is "in between" the events of Chapter Two and the morning that Scotty gives them news of John Harrison's location.
> 
> Oh and to clear up something I've recently decided. This won't exactly be a fluffy lovey kind of fic like some of my other stuff, since it's meant to bridge the gaps between actual scenes in the movie with a moderate slashy undertone, but nothing explicit. So more of a realistic yearning/sizzly bromance thing going on here rather than the usual doing-the-do-in-the-observation-deck kind of deal (but don't get me wrong, I like that stuff too). I just think this take-a-step-back-and-look-at-it stuff's good once in a while. Gets your priorities straight, you know? (as I type this instead of writing my paper- sweats worriedly)

Somehow Jim managed to avoid incarceration in the hospital ward after the attack, slipping away on the insubstantial excuse of attending to business and disappearing before Spock had the presence of mind to call him back. It was typical, he decided upon a moment of reflection, that Jim Kirk would ask him to stay before vanishing himself. Typical and not a little disappointing.

Spock himself was not so fortunate, indeed subjected to much discomfort and fanfare before declared perfectly sound by a medic of questionable clarity of mind in the early hours of the morning. As much as he and Dr. McCoy expressed their blatant animosity towards each other, Spock almost preferred the gruff, but familiar ways of the senior medical officer.

He stepped out through the glass doors of the hospital at midnight, by Terran standards. The slight chill of the cooler night air stopped him a scarce two yards in front of the building. It had been long since he had last spent time on Earth, and the feeling was a strange mix of nostalgia and unfamiliarity. After all, despite his genetic makeup, his home had been undeniably Vulcan.

His grief at his loss now was an old ache, a dull pain that did not cut as deeply nor as cruelly as it once had. It was almost a comfort now, his sorrow a companion that lay close to his bones. He did not think that it would ever truly leave him, and he had long since resigned himself to the fact.

He wondered if Jim would eventually find his own peace.

Spock tilted his head back and considered the night sky. The lights of the city, harsh and glittering in their distant beauty, obscured the stars with the veil of mankind. Try as he might, he could make out nothing in the velvet blackness above San Francisco through the fog of light pollution.

Slightly disappointed by this denial, he straightened and set about procuring a residence for the night. There were quarters available for officers on leave at the Starfleet headquarters, of course, but he could still taste ashes and death heavy on his tongue, and he found the thought of returning to that scene of tragedy unpleasant. He found himself thinking of hot tears on his neck instead, trembling hands clutching at his arms with bruising desperation.

Spock counted to one thousand in his mind, and by the time he reached eight hundred sixty-two, Jim's kiss was nothing more than a phantom warmth on his lips. He counted another one hundred and thirty-eight for the sake of completion.

He knew that it would not happen again, whatever they had shared in that corridor. It was a passing of whim, of emotion, of shared grief and catharsis. _A moment of madness,_ he thought vaguely, and wondered if he was mad, after all. He was not supposed to have thoughts such as these, to think in such poetic, unclear terms that were more of sensation than words. Had he really become so human?

Oddly, the thought did not repulse him as much as it would have in his younger years.

Unerringly, his mind wavered back to Jim. The way he stood on the bridge, the way he commanded with a word and confessed to weakness with another. The way he could be bold, strong, and fragile all at once. His existence was a paradox, a mystery, a tangle of complexities Spock had spent sleepless nights attempting to unravel.

If being more human meant being more like Jim, he decided, it could not possibly be so terrible a condition.

Spock stirred himself from these thoughts forcefully and blinked, the street before him swimming back into clarity. He had been walking aimlessly along, immersed in his thoughts, disregarding the attention drawn by his singed dress uniform. Now, he saw that he had wandered into streets of a more dubious nature, the establishments lining the road possessing equally questionable legality as their patrons.

He quickened his steps, hoping to soon exit the district, when he caught glimpse on an unexpected figure standing just ahead, gazing through the window of a particularly populated bar.

"Captain." His own voice was louder than he had intended, and he found himself unable to move as Jim's head snapped around in surprise. Even in the darkness, his gaze cut deep and sharp, edged with still gnawing grief.

"Spock." Jim stepped back from the window, pulling at his sleeves absently. "What are you doing here?"

"I would ask of you the same." Spock closed the distance between them so that they would not need to raise their voices. "It has been four hours since you departed, Captain." He somehow did not like the thought of Jim wandering these streets with only heavy thoughts for company.

"Yeah." Jim scratched the back of his head absently. He still had a smear of soot across his cheek, Spock noticed, and to his own bafflement, he reached out and placed his hand on Jim's face, rubbing the grime with with a swipe of his thumb.

Jim stood stock still, possibly frozen to the spot with shock. His skin was unnaturally cold beneath Spock's palm, testament to the length of time he had spent in the night wind. A flutter of lashes brushed against Spock's skin as he blinked.

Spock pulled away before his hand could perform any more unexpected acrobatics, clasping his wrist tightly behind his back preventatively. "My apologies, Captain. I overstepped my bounds."

"Not your captain, Spock," Jim murmured, reaching up and scrubbing at his face where Spock had touched him absently, but Spock did not think that he was intended to reply. He inclined his head in acknowledgment and waited for Jim to continue the conversation.

He was inexplicably anxious himself, for no particular reason other than that he was speaking with Jim. After all, it had not been that long ago that he had offered Jim comfort in a way he had never expected. Jim did not seem as affected by the incident as Spock himself, and this also irked Spock for no discernible reason. He reined in his increasingly floundering thoughts. There was a disturbing lack of reason in his mind as of late.

Jim had returned his attention to the bar window, flickering neon lights playing over the shadows of his face. "This is where I met him, you know."

Spock dutifully turned his head to gaze into the bar. It was not an establishment he could envision himself every frequenting, full of swaying bodies, callous laugher, and alcohol. It was not, he realized, somewhere he would have imagined Jim visiting. Looking at him now, however, through sidelong glances, there was a certain harshness to Jim's face as he stared through the grimy glass that had not been there previously. A tightness that spoke of harder times before the Academy.

A compelling vision of the captain dancing amongst those twining figures rose unwarranted in Spock's mind. He swiftly disarmed, grappled, and pounded the image back into incoherence just in time to meet Jim's curious gaze.

"You all right?"

"I am adequate," Spock said. Had he spoken too quickly? He blinked at Jim in what he hoped was an ordinary manner, and after another questioning stare, Jim turned back to the window.

"It was a bar fight. Me being stupid, you know?" There was a wistful tone in Jim's voice as he spoke, edged with a hint of self-deprecation. The focus in his eyes shifted slightly, seeing the bar in another time, years ago. "I was just a kid, didn't know jack from squat. Then along comes Christopher _Pike_." Spock could hear the dawning awe in Jim's words as he recalled the admiral. "Man, I thought I was in for the chewing out of a lifetime. Was expecting it, really. But instead, he got me to join Starfleet." Jim snorted. "I never thanked him."

"Jim…"

"No, listen." Jim swallowed, and Spock watched the bob of his throat with an inexplicable fascination. "If I hadn't….if Pike hadn't been there that night, hadn't stopped that fight, I would have never joined Starfleet. Never met Bones, Uhura, Scotty, everyone. Never met you." With what seemed like a great effort, he twisted his body away from the window and faced Spock, his stare as direct as ever. "So I came here to say thanks, I guess." He tilted his head consideringly at Spock for a moment, then grinned, "After all, I wouldn't have trumped your ass at that Kobayashi Maru if I hadn't joined, right?"

Spock allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch in imitation. "As you say, Jim."

Jim gave a final chuckle and took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders absently. "My apartment's close."

Spock cocked his head inquisitively. He had not realized that Jim lived in such close vicinity. He voiced this thought out loud.

To his surprise, Jim looked almost embarrassed. "Well. It's not much, really. I keep it around for shore leave, mostly." He hesitated for a heartbeat. "Do you have somewhere to be?"

"If you are referring to my surface accommodations, Jim, then no. I had expected to remain in headquarters during my stay on Earth." He did not bother to explain why he wasn't there now.

Jim nodded once, as if he knew anyway, and scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "You could crash at my place, you know. It's just me there, anyway."

"That would not be appropriate," Spock said firmly, despite the odd little leap his stomach had undergone at the offer. "Not to mention insubordinate."

"Come _on_." The familiar exasperation was back, as it was whenever Jim seemed to believe Spock was acting unreasonably. The irony that, of the two of them, Spock was always the more reasonable, never seemed to strike him. "It's one night, Spock. You've got to sleep somewhere. And, trust me, you don't want to see some of the places around here."

Spock hesitated, torn in a way he did not find completely unpleasant. He admitted to some measure of interest regarding the captain's accommodations, particularly as he had never considered the thought before. His own failures at realizing that Jim had had a different life before joining Starfleet disgruntled him. At any other time, he might very well have agreed instantly to the offer, if only out of natural curiosity.

However, he now felt a certain reluctance to breach that boundary of privacy they had so far managed to maintain between them. The captain's life was his own business, as Spock's was his own. The truth was, he simply did not know what to do now that they were no longer aboard the Enterprise. Life on the ship was structured, ordered, predictable. In the scant hours they had been on Earth, a terrorist had attacked Starfleet, Christopher Pike had been killed, and now Jim was extending an invitation for Spock to stay in his dwelling. If he believed in such things, he would place the blame willingly on an immeasurable amount of bad luck.

"I…."

"Please," Jim added, his voice lowered now. His eyes, as unfathomable as any Vulcan's, were fixed steadily on Spock's. He suspected that the captain had more than an idea of the influence of his gaze on Spock's ability to make decisions. It was rather conniving of him to abuse it so, in all honesty.

Spock exhaled perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary in an approximation of a sigh. "Very well, Captain. I will accept your offer."

"Thanks," Jim said dryly, sounding unaccountably amused by something Spock had said unintentionally. This happened often, Spock had realized over time, and it had swiftly become one of the many odd things he had come to accept about Jim Kirk.

It was indeed only a short walk before they arrived at Jim's apartment. Spock had automatically shifted to walk half a step behind Jim as they strolled down the street, but Jim had fallen back persistently so that they met stride for stride, shoulders brushing against each other with every other step. The first time it had happened, Spock murmured a polite apology and shifted to allow more distance between them. Jim had merely looked at him with that half-exasperated, half-amused expression that puzzled Spock so, and when it happened a second and third time, neither of them made a move to prevent it.

They stopped in front of Jim's apartment, Spock looking around curiously while Jim fumbled for his key card. "It really isn't much," Jim said again nervously, still watching Spock warily. "So whatever you're expecting…" he trailed off, frowning in concentration as he plunged his hand deeper into his pocket.

"I have no expectations," Spock said truthfully.

Jim gave a snort of laughter. "Yeah, that doesn't really make me feel better, Spock." He found the key card, brandishing it in triumph before unlocking his door. "There we go." He stepped aside to allow Spock entrance, still emitting a sense of unfounded anxiety.

Spock stepped apprehensively into the dark room, head swiveling in an attempt to take in his surroundings. Jim followed closely behind them, the door shutting quietly behind him. There was a click, and the apartment was lit with sterile, regulation lights.

It was not a hovel, Spock supposed. After the amount of fidgeting Jim had undergone about the topic, he had suspected the worst of his living conditions. The apartment was not bad at all. A few odd articles of clothing were tossed here and there, a couple of toppled stacks of holovids and magazines in the corners, but it was disorganized in a way that spoke of Jim's nature, and Spock found that he did not mind the mess at all.

Jim dodged around him, disappearing around the partition to the small kitchen. "You want something? I've got coffee, whiskey….juice, somewhere, I think." He poked his head back around the corner, eyeing Spock suspiciously. "You _do_ drink things other than water, right?"

"I do not require a drink at the moment," Spock said absently, examining what appeared to be a replica of a fish mounted upon a wooden plaque. He was heavily suspicious of the small round button at the base of the plaque and tactfully decided to avoid pushing it. Beneath the fish was a shelf of picture frames, the images intermittently fading to new ones every two and a half seconds.

Spock bent to inspect one of the pictures, a portrait of a young blonde woman. Dimly, he wondered if she was the other party in one of Jim's past relationships. He had heard the rumors, in the days preceding Jim's trial at the Academy. And yet, there was something familiar in the set of her eyes, in the crooked quirk of her smile….

"That's my mom."

It was only thanks to years of rigid upbringing that Spock managed to not knock every frame off the shelf in his haste to straighten and turn around to face Jim.

How the captain had managed to get so close to him without making a sound, Spock supposed he would never know. Fortunately, he did not seem to notice Spock's disorientation, nodding past him at the frames instead. "That's her before I was born. It's the only one I've got, really."

He must have registered Spock's surprise, as he then explained, "There weren't exactly many happy family moments to record when I was growing up." Jim stared at the picture a moment longer, lost in thought.

"You do not possess a photograph of your father?" Spock asked at last, voicing the question he had been carefully mulling for the past minute.

Jim startled, eyes flashing to Spock briefly. "No. No, I….she got rid of those," he said by way of explanation. "It doesn't matter. There's plenty of pictures of him floating around out there. The Kelvin was pretty big news at the time, you know." He swirled the glass in his hand absently, the large chunk of ice floating within clinking gently. "You want to see something cool?" he asked abruptly, and sipping at the amber liquid as he watched Spock unblinkingly over the top of the glass. They were standing so close that Spock could smell the alcohol on Jim's breath. The air suddenly seemed very warm.

He took a step back deliberately and nodded, no longer sure what he was agreeing to. Jim nodded seriously, then tossed back the remainder of his drink. He swayed slightly as he set the empty glass down on a low table, then wiped the back of his hand absently across his mouth. "This way."

He led the way through an open doorway into what Spock correctly assumed to be his bedroom. A low, wide mattress took up most of the space, strewn with unmade sheets and-

Jim swooped down and grabbed a pair of what Spock joltingly recognized as a piece of female lingerie from the floor. "Oops," Jim muttered, having the decency to flush as he thoughtlessly stuffed the leopard-print scrap of cloth into his pocket. A single black strap dangled out, swinging distractingly along the leg of Jim's trousers. Spock found himself following the mesmerizing arc with his eyes, and firmly forced himself to raise his gaze. "Twins, you know," the captain added, with a juvenile grin, and Spock exhaled in exasperation.

Jim crossed the room in three long strides to the curtained windows. "Come here," he called over his shoulder, when he noticed Spock hesitating in his doorway.

Spock stepped into the bedroom, feeling irrationally like an intruder, and made his way carefully to Jim's side. He swerved in time to avoid stepping on a dark pair of briefs he identified, with a rush of mingled mortification and fascination, as Jim's, and fought to avoid looking back at it as he approached the window.

Jim was pulling at the drapes already, throwing the heavy fabric back. "Lights," he said impatiently, snapping his fingers, and Spock blinked in a moment of disorientation as the lights clicked off, plunging the room into darkness.

From the window, he saw San Francisco, the sprawling city laid out in all of its glittering, chaotic glory. It was a stunning view, he admitted, gazing out through the glass at the spectacle. In fact, if he did not know their location, the lights almost looked-

"Kind of like the view from the ship, huh?" Jim mused. Startled, Spock turned to look at Jim. He, too, was staring out the window, though he did not appear to be seeing the cityscape as Spock did. He shifted his head to meet Spock's gaze, and there was an unspoken need there that the alcohol did not quite manage to obscure.

Spock was moving instinctively before he could begin to doubt himself, turning fully so that he faced Jim. The man was taking deep breaths, eyes closed now, clearly trying to remain calm. It felt inexplicably wrong to see Jim attempting to rein in his emotions, something Spock had never realized he could even do.

Then Jim swayed forward, his forehead dropping heavily onto Spock's shoulder. He exhaled shakily, his breath warm against Spock's chest as he relaxed further into the contact, tension visibly leaving his neck and shoulders as he leaned into his first officer. "Sorry," he murmured. "Just…..I just need a moment."

Spock nodded before realizing that Jim could not see him, but did not trust himself to speak out loud, for fear of what he might say. He contented himself with raising his hand instead, cupping his palm around the back of Jim's neck carefully and holding him against his shoulder. The skin beneath his fingertips were warm, almost hot, trembling at the sudden coolness pressed against them.

"I'm tired, Spock." The whispered confession wavered uncertainly in the darkness.

"You should sleep." Spock moved to extricate himself, but Jim was grabbing at him to keep him still, his hands fumbling for purchase against the stiff dress uniform.

" _No._ I don't- I don't want to sleep-" he drew in a shuddering breath, air hissing through his teeth. "No."

"I see." Spock lifted his hand again, slower this time to avoid distressing Jim further, and carefully unhooked Jim's grip on his clothing. Their fingers tangled together briefly, and Jim twisted his wrist to bring their palms flush together, holding Spock's hand tightly in his own. Spock could not stop a sharp intake of air at the sudden contact, the pressure lingering on the fringes of his mind pushing insistently. He nudged it away carefully, straining to keep his mind separated from Jim's. He was so open, so raw, so exposed. Spock would not even have to reach out to be inside...

"I should have thanked him." Jim's words startled him from the confused state of his mind. "Before this. Before tonight. All these years….it was all thanks to him and I never let him know-"

"He knew," Spock murmured. He saw his mother's face before him as he spoke, the final moments before her fall…..how he had regretted the time spent denying her instead of loving her….. And still, the final gaze had been one of love, despite everything…..

"He knew, Jim." And he knew it to be true without the benefit of facts.

Jim took a deep breath, Spock's hand on the back of his neck rising with the inhale. The whitening fingers locked around Spock's relaxed incrementally. He did not speak, but he did not need to.

…

Jim opened his eyes groggily as the sun rose. He could feel the warm rays on his face, searing into his retinas as he squinted unpleasantly at the uncovered window.

He stretched, grimacing as his shoulders popped and clicked back into place, and blinked as the blanket that had been covering him fell back from his torso. "What the…."

He blinked down at himself, at the crumpled dress uniform he wore, at the black string hanging from his pocket…..at the thong he now held in his hand. He threw the underwear into the corner as last night dawned on him in sickening, stomach-dropping clarity.

Jim stood up from the recliner abruptly. He was in his living room….something about making Spock taking the bed. He dimly recalled arguing about it, the whiskey in his blood singing and filling his head with all sorts of notions. In the end, he had threatened Spock with the chain of command. Upon more sober reflection, he realized that Spock may have simply not wanted to sleep in his bed without….changing the sheets.

Oh God.

He strode to the bedroom and, finding the door open, peered in tentatively.

The bed was made, another thong that Jim had missed and- shit - a pair of his briefs folded neatly on top.

Spock was nowhere to be seen.

Jim stood frozen in the doorway for the next few minutes, struggling to figure out if he was relieved or disappointed. He settled on relieved.

The beep of his communicator saved him from having to delve further into his traumatized emotions. It was Spock.

And he had news about John Harrison.


	4. Chapter 4

Spock watched Jim warily through the reflection of his console screen, not daring to turn fully around. He could make out raw and swollen knuckles clenched around the shuttle controls out of his peripherals, the fingers shifting absently occasionally before locking grimly again. Jim had not spoken since ordering Spock to cuff Harrison, and Spock did not find his silence reassuring.

He chanced a look around the back of his seat at Nyota, who met his gaze archly and jerked her head meaningfully at Jim's seat. He allowed the slightest of frowns to crease his forehead, and shook his head slightly. Her glare sharpened significantly, and he promptly turned back around to face his console before further unpleasantness could ensue between them.

Behind them, reluctantly guarded by the two discomforted security in the back of the shuttle, sat their prisoner. He perched quietly on the steel bench, cuffed hands placed neatly in his lap and his spine impeccably stacked in a line Spock's own father would have been in envy of.

As if he felt the weight of Spock's speculative glance, Harrison shifted his head slightly to meet his gaze, his expression that of a man who was thoroughly disinterested in his surroundings. It was not the look of a captured convict about to face trial, and that unsettled Spock in ways he did not enjoy. It was nothing like how Jim unsettled him.

That last thought had not been intended to take form. He hastily disassembled it, attempting in vain to forget that he had even thought it, but that was an illogical notion, as-

"Spock." Jim's voice was quiet, barely audible over the chirping and humming of the instruments, and yet it jolted Spock where he sat.

"Captain." He was proud of the evenness of his voice.

"When we get back, I want him moved to the brig. Full security detail."

"Yes, Captain." He made the arrangements with a few gestures. The rest of the journey was made in terse silence.

Jim was standing as soon as the shuttle docked, moving towards the shuttle hatch before it even had time to open. He seemed desperate to leave every reminder of Kronos behind him, every reminder but for the one currently sitting wordlessly on the steel bench behind him.

Spock followed close on his heels as he strode purposefully off the shuttle, brushing past red-clad security as they hurried forward to accost Harrison. "Captain."

"What." Jim didn't turn as he answered, his shoulders tensing beneath his civilian clothing.

"Your hands." Spock hesitated, then reached out, encircling Jim's wrist firmly with his fingers and pulled him to a stop. He could feel the heat of Jim's skin beneath the thin fabric, close enough for him to touch if he but slid his grip down another centimeter….

"What about them?" Jim asked shortly. He finally met Spock's eyes, but there was a molten fury there that gave Spock pause. He inched a step forward, tugging carefully at Jim's arm to bring him around so that they faced each other.

"You require medical attention," Spock said quietly, resisting the urge to wipe off the smear of tacky blood on Jim's cheek.

Jim pulled free, rubbing at his bruised knuckles unconsciously. "I'm fine." His eyes shifted over Spock's shoulder, hardening as Harrison approached with his escort. "I'm fine," he repeated, sounding more unconvincing by the second.

"I am doubtful of the authenticity of your claim," Spock told him frostily.

Jim rolled his eyes, and the motion spoke of the Jim he was most familiar with. "Not now, Spock. We've got a crisis, remember?"

Harrison's escort passed, the dark-haired man's gaze sliding dismissively over the two of them. Jim turned to follow the group with unreadable eyes. The look did not bode well on the face of a man whose emotion usually showed with every word, every movement.

"Your injuries," Spock prompted again, with a dogged persistence. He did not like to ask for things, he thought it rather below him to do so, but now he found that he could not let the subject lie.

"Later," Jim said distractedly, turning to follow Harrison's escort out of the docking bay.

"Come on," Nyota muttered unexpectedly by his elbow. Spock blinked, startled, and looked down to see her frowning at Jim's retreating back. "Someone's got to make sure he's all right."

 _Yes_ , Spock agreed. _Someone most definitely did._

When Nyota pressed her lips to his moments later, he was not altogether surprised at the action. He appreciated her consideration in avoiding all other points of contact as she initiated the kiss; something prodded quietly at the back of his mind- a memory of holding Jim tightly in his arms with no qualms whatsoever as to his restraint.

What he did not expect, however, was the message she left behind. In their time together, Nyota had swiftly grasped the mechanisms of emotional transference. Now, the inflections she left ringing against Spock's mind pulsed and tingled with fierce intent as she drew away and smiled, the gentleness of her expression contrasting bewilderingly with the blazing force of her contact.

_Take care of him._

A sense of release, acceptance, resignation had enveloped the core of the imprint. And she was gone. He turned on his heel to gaze after her, at the proud head that never turned back.

Humans, it seemed, would never cease to surprise him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nyota's a badass and I love her to death, so this upsets me somewhat ;_;


	5. Chapter 5

Seven minutes before the _Enterprise_ aligned properly with the _Vengeance_. Seven minutes of fidgeting and waiting for everything to blow up around their ears. Seven minutes of enduring this hell of a suit.

The damn thing chafed in some places and was annoyingly loose in others. Jim shifted his weight uncomfortably, resisting the urge to reach back and pull at the material that insisted on finding its way wedged into all the wrong places. There was also something depressing about how baggy the thing was over his crotch; he wondered for a moment if he had managed to put it on backwards. The sleeves cut awkwardly under his arms as well, and it was overall a terrible ordeal.

It didn't help matters that Khan stood beside him in the corridor, arms perfectly straight and still at his sides and looking positively bored with the whole situation. There was something about him that reminded Jim disturbingly of Spock. Little things like the paleness of his skin, his careful posture, the odd phrasing of his words, how _still_ he could be.

It should be illegal to be so conflicted over this. What he had grown to appreciate in Spock he now saw and detested in Khan. The man was psychopathic, dangerous, every fiber in Jim's body screamed for him to shoot him out the airlock without the benefit of an oxygen tank. But he needed him, and that was what he hated most of all.

"Your first officer," Khan said unexpectedly. The security detail on either side of him tensed at his words, and Jim waved them down before turning back.

"What about Spock?" he asked warily, the sound of his own voice echoing oddly around the helmet.

"He is a Vulcan." The statement was plain and curiously lacking in inflection, but it pissed Jim off all the same.

"Yeah, so what? You some kind of xenophobe?"

Khan turned his head slowly, regarding Jim with those cold and empty eyes that were, really, nothing like Spock's at all. "He is weak," he said dismissively, a glitter of scorn entering the void of his expression. "A beast who forges his own chains. Strength is wasted on his species."

 _Don't let him get in your head, damn it_.

Jim took a deep breath, flexed his hands irritably at his sides before crossing his arms tightly across his chest, the damned suit creaking and stretching awkwardly. "And what do you know about strength?"

"It is power," Khan answered instantly, almost as if he had fully expected the question. "It is the law. It is what gives order to the universe and everything within it."

"That's awfully poetic of you."

"It is the truth."

Jim couldn't help but flare at that one. "No, it's _your_ truth. Strength isn't just about how many Klingons you can take out or how many innocent people you can blow up." _It's about being there when you need him, being there even when you don't. He didn't have to come looking for me. He didn't need to make my bed and fold my damn underwear. He didn't need to hold me._ "You'll never be half as strong as him."

The man looked at him with his dead eyes. "You are a strange one, Captain," Khan said, almost thoughtfully. Again, with that ambiguous tone that made the statement neither a compliment nor an insult.

 _You're the strange one_ , Jim thought sullenly, looking away from that unsettling gaze. He couldn't get a grip on Khan, and that bothered him. The man was a killer, a ruthless machine. He'd killed _Pike_ , and Jim would never forgive him for that, but he had cried for his crew, his family, and somehow that wrenched at Jim's gut in a way he didn't want to admit.

He wished Spock was here, in the wistful, childish way that a kid wished for snow on Christmas. He hadn't lied when he had told him that the _Enterprise_ didn't need him in the chair. Pike had been right about him, everything he'd said. He wasn't ready, and now his family was going to pay.

"You are both strange," Khan mused, when Jim didn't respond. Jim scowled, wishing he would just shut up. "I've forgotten the complexities of human emotion."

"You're human yourself, you know," Jim said, unable to keep himself from saying something. _You've always talked too much_ , he scolded himself.

"I may have been once, but no longer. Now I'm-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You're _better_."

"So you have finally decided to acknowledge the truth."

Jim snorted, and they settled into an uncomfortable silence once more. He shuffled his feet, glancing at his timepiece. Two minutes.

" _Captain,"_ said a voice by his ear.

"Spock!" He blinked at the unexpected transmission. "What's wrong?"

There was a slight pause. _"There is nothing wrong. I simply intended to…wish you good luck."_

Jim hastily ensured that they were on a private frequency. No need for Khan to pick up on their conversation. "Good luck?" He laughed quietly, a dry chuckle that was more resignation than humor. "I thought you didn't believe in it."

" _Be as that may, Jim,_ you _believe in it."_

"Well, I'm starting to lose my faith in it, in all honesty." Jim leaned back against the wall, keeping a wary eye on Khan as he spoke. "When was the last time something good happened?"

Another pause, this one so long that Jim wondered for a moment if Spock had left.

" _I have never been to Arizona."_

Jim was too caught off guard by the unexpected statement to answer, his mouth gaping and closing uncertainly until he hesitantly tried to clarify, "Arizona?"

" _As most of my time on Earth has been spent on Starfleet business, I have never taken the opportunity to visit the acclaimed natural spectacles of the planet. I believe there is one such spectacle in the state of Arizona.."_

Jim frowned in concentration. He'd never been particularly good at guessing games. "Are you- are you talking about the Grand Canyon?"

" _It is not so 'grand', I believe. Vulcan's canyons were much more awe-inspiring."_

Jim felt his lips twitch into a slow grin. "Come on, you've never even seen it."

" _Perhaps I will visit, afterwards."_

Now it was Jim's turn to fall silent. Afterwards. He hadn't even considered the possibility of there being an 'afterwards'. It was one thing to hope, to fight, it was another to think about an 'after'.

"Tell you what," he said at last. "After this….how about I take you there? We'll make it a road trip, just the two of us." He honestly couldn't picture it, the two of them backpacking cross country, staying in shady motels or just under the desert stars….Spock in a backpack at all, or jeans, come to think of it, but just saying the words gave him a sense of hope that there _would_ be an after.

" _I look forward to it."_ And that simple sentence was both so like and unlike Spock that Jim gave a low chuckle despite all the sickening worry writhing in his gut.

He heard Sulu's faint voice over the comm, alerting Spock of the completed alignment of the ships.

" _Good luck, Jim,"_ came the final solemn whisper.

He swallowed. "Thanks, Spock. You….you too."

Then he was gone.

The hatch opened with a hydraulic hiss, and Jim all but hurled himself down into the chute, his anger nearly causing his shaking fingers to slip free from the rungs. He dropped down heavily, looking up to see Khan descending smoothly after him.

As soon as he touched down, Jim raised a hand, signaling the hatch shut, and stepped forward to stand behind Khan.

"Scotty, how're we doing over there?"

_"I wish I had better news, Captain-"_

Arizona seemed an awfully long way from here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had a dream the other night that I was sitting at a yogurt bar and then Jim and Bones came in and sat next to me. Bones got a smoothie and Jim got nachos (yes, I know, nachos at a yogurt bar) and then he asked me if I wanted to share his nachos and even though they were spicy nachos and I don't eat spicy stuff, I said yes because COME ON WOULD YOU HAVE SAID NO. Then I saw that Jim had a post-it note stuck in his hair and Bones noticed that I saw and he went, "shh, don't tell him," so naturally I ripped it off and then tried to put it back on but it wasn't sticky anymore. And then I woke up before the nachos came and I was so mad because I didn't get to share them with Jim.
> 
> So that was my fantastic adventure.
> 
> Moving on, now. I had to rewatch this scene so many time ughhhh sobbbbbbbb, but then ended up deciding that I didn't want to rehash the actual conversation they had because I think that speaks for itself in sheer amount of upset and feels, so I pinpointed more of the before and the after in this chapter.

He wondered if it was possible to dream without being asleep.

It was a bit like that, dying. The fire was there, and sometimes it burned and scorched and clawed at his heart, other times it was distant….he could almost forget it was even there. There was an aspect to the surreal in his blurring vision, like some sort of nightmarish monochrome landscape. His heart was a faltering, stumbling thing in his chest, slow and ponderous and more reluctant to pulse with every second.

The cough that spluttered from his lips sounded altogether too wet, a heavy coppery taste coating his tongue. _That can't be good_.

He had nothing left to give, nothing to leave behind, nothing but a broken legacy and a promise that he would never keep. A challenge from a dead man that he could never begin to live up to. Nobody would remember him as he was, the shattered, twisted soul who didn't know how to cry and had only learned in the arms of a Vulcan. The irony didn't escape him.

Spock was all he had left, really. The proof of his existence. The only one in all the worlds who had seen him as he was in all of his broken glory and had remained with him nevertheless. He had stayed when Jim had asked, and that meant more to him than he ever wanted to admit.

_Where are you?_

He staggered forward another step and swayed unsteadily, catching himself heavily against the wall. The steel was hot and burned through his shirt, but he was already on fire and what was one more added agony?

He could feel the radiation taking root within him, a paralyzing ache settling deep in his bones.

Would anyone cry for him?

He was panting now, sweat dripping down his neck, trickling down the back of his shirt. His heartbeat pounded deep and loud in his ears. It consumed him, he was audience to its existence, held prisoner by its rhythm. He clung on to the sound even as he flinched away. He was drowning in his own blood, the burning poison scorching him dry from the inside out.

Scotty's face swimming through the glass door, panic in his voice as he shouted. Jim squinted through hazy eyes, trying to focus.

"...Captain!"

His legs finally gave out and he fell hard on his knees. It was a distant pain, a grunt slipping out between dry and cracking lips.

"Captain! Oh God-"

"Spock," he croaked, dragging himself forward shakily.

"What?"

"Get….Spock." Before it was too late. His vision was fading, black prickling at the edges. He was so scared, so damn scared of what lay beyond his sight, what hovered just past the fringes of existence. He was so close to the edge, he could fall at any second and he had never liked the sensation of falling….

He wasn't ready for this; nobody had told him what it would be like, knowing death was right around the corner but not knowing how many steps were left.

He wasn't sure how long time passed before he reached the door and collapsed beside it, gasping for breath. His hands and feet had gone cold, a pervasive numbness creeping through his limbs. But then _he_ was here. Spock.

Jim could see his pale face on the other side of the glass, dark eyes fixed on him. He mustered up his strength to reach up and close the hatch behind him as Spock knelt down. If he tried, he could pretend that the glass wasn't there. He had always been good at fooling himself.

"How's the ship?" he rasped, raising his eyes to Spock's, and then it was the beginning of the end.

…

Death was a cold place.

...

Spock watched the sleeping human in the biobed, his chest rising and falling gently with the swells of his breaths. Jim looked too small in the white sheets, his skin ashen compared to its normal healthy hue. Spock remembered racing to the medbay as soon as he had returned with the apprehended Khan, his heart stuttering to a stop at the sight of Jim encased in his coffin of ice.

McCoy had had to forcibly remove him from the medbay so the transfusion could begin. He had not been proud of his lapse in rationale, and he still regretted it now. His delay might have cost precious seconds that Jim needed, and for that he would never forgive himself.

He reached out and carefully gathered Jim's hand into both of his. It was an intimate gesture he would normally balk at initiating, but there was no room for societal conventions in his brimming heart as he lowered his head to Jim's bedside, leaning his forehead against the back of that too-cold hand.

Surely life could not be this cruel, to have him find the most important thing in his entire existence only to take it away moments later. Surely he could not be expected to live the rest of his life without Jim at his side.

He would be content to stand by him and nothing more. He would ask for nothing, if he could only see Jim smile once more. Death did not suit a man so large, so strong, so fragile, everything Jim was embodied life at its fullest. This was _wrong_ , seeing him like this, hovering on the edge of life and death and belonging to neither. But no, that was also in error, for Jim belonged on the side where Spock was. All they had was each other; they had seen each other at their worst and neither had pushed the other away. Spock did not put much stock in fate, but it was no coincidence that the two of them had ever met in the first place.

But if it was meant to be, then why was this happening now?

There were some things that logic could not explain, and Spock realized this now bitterly as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Jim's knuckles in silent supplication.

_Do not take him away._

There was a light touch at his shoulder, and for a wild moment Spock fully believed that it was Jim. He straightened abruptly, twisting around-

"You look terrible," McCoy said bluntly, pulling up a chair and sitting uninvited beside Spock.

Spock slowly released Jim's hand, realizing how it must look to the doctor, and placed his own hands stiffly in his lap.

"You need sleep," McCoy continued critically. He tugged at the cuffs of his white uniform absently as he spoke. "It's been a week, Spock." When Spock did not answer, the doctor tutted impatiently. "Do you think he'd want you mooning about like this?! I'll call the damn security if I have to-"

"A week," Spock said, his voice low. It had been a week, and Jim had not awoken. Surely that had to mean something had gone wrong with the transfusion, that even though his heart was beating, Jim would never wake again. Never smile or cry or tell Spock about his mother. He knew so little of the man, and yet he felt like he knew everything about him.

Was this what love was? He could not pretend to know, but he had never wanted to know more of someone like this before. Nyota had been a friend, a comforter, an ally, soft and sweet and unbending. Jim, too, was a friend, and yet he was more than Nyota had ever been to him. He was the sun in all of its blazing glory, brighter and braver and stronger and _more_. Spock had thought him arrogant and emotional once; now he knew the man to be more secretive than he had ever suspected, hiding away his own grief and regret with all the stolid resolution of a Vulcan. He longed to break those walls, to delve so deeply into Jim that he would wonder how he had ever been content as a separate being, to know him and be known-

"A week," McCoy confirmed, and sighed. "Look, I'll watch him, all right? Go get some rest."

Spock turned his head slowly to look at him. He was aware of his ragged condition, of the rough stubble darkening his jaw and the gnawing knot of hunger deep in his belly. There was work to be done elsewhere, matters to resolve, responsibilities to take on in place of Jim. But something had kept him at Jim's bedside, silently agonizing while the monitor gently beeped and the oxygen mask over his face hissed mechanically.

"You will alert me when..."

"Yes, of course," McCoy answered instantly. "You'll be the first to know."

Spock nodded, looking back at Jim once more. Something in his silence must have alerted McCoy to his reluctance, as the doctor then grunted and stood. "I'll give you a moment." Spock hardly noticed his retreating footsteps.

"I will need to leave now," he told Jim quietly. His voice felt rusty and harsh with disuse over the past seven days, and he cleared his throat self-consciously. "But I will return."

The heart monitor beeped steadily in the silence.

"I will return," Spock repeated, feeling suddenly very uncertain of himself. He leaned forward without thinking, reaching out unsteadily and gripping Jim's hand once more tightly. It was a parting and a promise, and perhaps a prayer. "So you must come back." He swallowed audibly and withdrew, gathering the frayed ends of his emotions and bundling them together tightly in an act of self-preservation.

He would return to Jim's side, yes, and there he would stay.

For better or worse.


	7. Chapter 7

"You are welcome, Jim," Spock said, and Jim couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face.

"All right, break it up," Bones grumbled. He picked up a stack of Jim's readings and turned. "I'll be right back," he said, then paused and gave them a shrewd look. "You two behave yourselves, all right?"

Jim gestured down at himself in exasperation. "Do you honestly think I can go anywhere right now, Bones?" To be honest, just sitting up was already heavily taxing on his wreck of a body. If the bed wasn't there to support him, he suspected he wouldn't even be able to so much as lift his head. There was a ponderous sort of ache in his bones, like every muscle was a giant healing bruise, and he supposed that it was true, in a way. The thought of Khan's blood pumping through his veins was slowly becoming less disturbing, and he found himself distantly wondering if it would change anything about him. He _felt_ normal enough, if normal meant tired and in pain and a growing urge to use the bathroom.

"It's a beautiful thing, seeing you incapacitated like this," Bones said wistfully, and departed.

"He looks stupid in that uniform," Jim mumbled pettily, as the doors hissed shut.

Spock was watching him, in that intensely keen way of his, and Jim found himself unable to meet his eyes again. What was he supposed to say to a man who he'd spilled his heart to, every last dark and dirty bit of it, to a man who'd brought him back despite all the odds? "Thank you" seemed awfully undermining, but there was nothing else he could say.

_How are you supposed to tell someone you need him by your side, because you're afraid you'll fly apart without him?_

Not like that, for sure.

Jim reached out impulsively, seized by some mad urge he put down to painkillers and homicidal maniac blood, and after a moment's pause, Spock reached out and took his hand. He held it so very carefully in a loose clasp, like it was some fragile thing that'd blow apart if he squeezed any tighter, and Jim could almost laugh and cry at the absurdity and truth of it.

"I'm glad it was you," he said instead.

"Captain?"

"I'm glad," Jim repeated, "that it was you. At the end."

Spock was quiet for a long moment, so long that Jim thought he wasn't going to answer. Then, "I would rather there have not been an end at all, but….I must claim the same." He paused. "Do not let it happen again."

Jim huffed, amused despite himself. "Yes, sir." He dropped his gaze, looking at their intertwined fingers. It was a bit odd, he supposed, seeing his own hand in Spock's, but there was a sense of _rightness_ about it that he couldn't ignore. He brushed his thumb across pale knuckles distractedly, and didn't miss the twitch of Spock's fingers against his own. There was a greenish-gray scrape over the first two knuckles, scabbed over and almost healed but still visible.

"What happened here?" Jim murmured, absorbed in the feel of Spock's skin against his own.

"Nothing of import," Spock answered, his voice only slightly unsteady.

Jim looked closer, his breath ghosting across the back of Spock's hand. Another imperceptible twitch. "Looks like you punched a wall or something."

"I did not."

"I know." Jim tilted his head up at Spock curiously. His words had been a bit faster than usual that time- a sure sign of avoidance. "That'd be a stupid thing to do," Jim added, watching him hawkishly for any telling response.

"Indeed." Spock matched him stare for stare, until Jim couldn't help but break into an indulgent grin. The corner of Spock's mouth tilted slightly in response, and the two of them smiled at each other like idiots until the rational part of Jim's mind kicked in and he coughed, suddenly aware that they were still holding hands.

Spock seemed to realize the same thing at the same time, blinking and looking down briefly at his polished black boots before catching Jim's eye again. "I must go, Jim. There is a meeting…"

"Yeah. Yeah, you should…..you should leave, then." Jim desperately tried to remember the proper protocol for moments like this. Should he let go first? Or should he wait for Spock to make the first move? But what if the two of them just kept hanging on waiting for the other one to let go? He didn't remember it being nearly this hard with anyone else-

Spock hesitated, then gave Jim's hand a gentle squeeze and withdrew. Jim hovered there for a moment, frozen, before awkwardly tucking his hand back to his side. He felt colder already, for some reason.

"Goodbye," Spock said, after some hesitation, sounding as perplexed over his delay in leaving as Jim was.

"Bye, Spock."

"I...I will return again when I am able."

"Okay, Spock," Jim chuckled.

Spock lingered a moment longer before nodding stiffly and spinning around on his heel, striding quickly out of the medbay.

Jim groaned and covered his burning face with his hands. What, he despaired, the hell was happening?!

…

One Week Later

Jim sat up carefully, trying not to grimace as his head threw a small revolution. He knew that the slightest sound of discomfort would have Bones scrambling to strap him down to the bed, and that was the last thing he wanted after all the arguing he'd had to do just to be able to get out of bed without an honor guard.

"You good?" Bones asked anxiously, as soon as he was approximately upright. The doctor was hovering a good two yards away on the other side of the bed, where Jim had made him go before attempting to get up. He was on strict instructions to leave Jim alone unless he was on the verge of toppling over on his face, but both of them knew that Bones wouldn't give a rat's ass about his promise if he thought Jim was in danger.

"I'm _fine_ ," Jim answered peevishly, sliding his legs stiffly over the edge of the bed and inching forward until his toes brushed the cool floor. When his bare feet were resting on the floor, he took a deep breath and braced himself. His arms quivered with effort as he pushed himself up, but his legs held and his feet were firm, and soon he was standing. Wobbling and shaking and sweating through gritted teeth, but _standing_.

"Ha!" Jim crowed triumphantly. He turned around to grin at Bones- or tried, as his knees gave out and he found himself heading rapidly for the floor.

A hand caught his elbow in an iron grip, locking solidly around his arm and pulling him back against a solid object.

"Captain, what are you doing?" Spock inquired, and Jim felt his face begin to heat. _Aw, hell._

He tried to pull away, but found himself clinging to Spock's arm for support instead, feet scrabbling for purchase for the suddenly spinning floor.

"You idiot," he thought he heard Bones say from across the room. Spock made a sound that was suspiciously like a sigh, and wrapped his other arm firmly around Jim's waist, hauling him up and depositing him with humiliating ease on the bed.

Jim did not sulk as Bones hooked him back up to the IV with a triumphant smirk. He didn't.

Spock moved to stand at the foot of his bed, hands behind his back as if nothing had happened. He was wearing, Jim couldn't help but notice, his dress uniform. He stared at the thing, unsure of the sudden lurch in his stomach. He remembered a night of shattered windows and crackling flames, of blood and tears and an unintentional kiss-

"Keep an eye on him," Bones was saying, smacking Jim's charts against Spock's chest as he passed. "I've got to make my rounds."

Spock clutched at the datapad with a bemused air, turning to watch the doctor stride across the room. When the doors hissed shut behind him, he looked back at Jim. There was a strange tension in his gaze, filled with things unspoken, and suddenly Jim felt extremely anxious as to what those things were. It had been a week since that first conversation after he'd woken, and he had said some things….things that made him want to bash his head against the wall now that he was in a clearer state of mind.

"How are you?" Jim asked awkwardly, fiddling with the white sheet Bones had thrown back over his legs. His hands wrinkled the fabric over his lap, smoothed them out again.

"I have been busy," Spock said, after a short pause.

Wrinkle. Smooth.

"Yeah?"

Wrinkle. Smooth.

"There were many necessary arrangements to be made. The Enterprise was in need of heavy repair and maintenance, as well as-"

"Funeral arrangements," Jim finished. His heart suddenly felt too small, a heavy, cold thing in the center of his chest. His fingers paused on the sheets, mid-wrinkle. "How many?"

"Jim-"

"How many, Spock?"

Spock hesitated, and his silence was more telling than any words he might have said. "You do not need to know."

"I do.'

"You do not." The certainty in his voice, the completely assuredness that yes, he did know exactly what Jim wanted, so Jim should shut up like a good little human and sit in his bed and get better, ticked Jim off immensely.

He scowled up at Spock, irritation dark and spiky in his gut. "Look, you can't stand there and tell me what it is I want or don't want. You don't know-"

"I know you," Spock said simply, his eyes fixed steadily on Jim's face. "My position as your first officer has offered me great insight into your character, Jim. Believe me when I tell you that you do not wish to hear this." He paused, eyes dropping for a split second and back up so quickly that Jim wasn't sure if he had even seen it. "It will be all the easier for you."


	8. Chapter 8

Jim was angry with him. It was not a feeling that Spock was completely unacquainted with, and yet it did not sit well with him nevertheless. He had never particularly cared either way what anyone thought of him, but Jim was different. Spock found, in fact, that he cared a great deal about everything when it came to Jim.

He frowned down at the back of his hands resting on his knees, and tried to remember the speech he had prepared beforehand. Jim had stolidly refused to speak with him further after their mild altercation the day before. He had returned today with a faint notion of apologizing…..for what, he did not know precisely, but one look at the closed expression on Jim's disapproving face had shaken him in almost embarrassing way, and now he could not, for the life of him, remember what he was going to say.

It was a troubling matter, made even more distressing by the fact that Jim was pointedly avoiding his gaze, his head turned away from where Spock sat at his bedside towards the wide windows.

In the end, Jim's impatience and curiosity seemed to win out over what hostilities he held, and Spock had never been so relieved for the limited supply of human tolerance of silence. "Why are you here?" he asked abruptly, looking around at Spock.

Spock looked at him helplessly. "I have upset you," he said at last. "I wish to rectify that as soon as possible, as it is not a condition I find myself particularly enjoying."

Jim frowned at him. "I'm not upset with you," he said, looking incredulous that Spock had even thought a thing.

Spock countered politely, "On the contrary, all signs of your recent behavior indicate-"

"No-"

"-you found my words displeasing and therefore-"

"Spock!" Jim said loudly, looking thoroughly exasperated.

Spock stopped abruptly, watching Jim keenly. To his surprise, Jim now looked more amused than affronted, shaking his head with a hint of something that might even have been embarrassment. "Spock, I'm not angry. Really. I had no idea you thought that." He rubbed a hand over his face slowly, pausing with his palm covering the lower half of his face and eyeing Spock strangely. "Well. I _was_ mad, last time."

Spock felt something that could only be categorized at relief at the admission, and berated himself silently for the utter nonsensical nature of the emotion. He had no substantial reason to be relieved, no right at all to feel liberated in any way. After all, Jim had admitted to his disapproval of Spock's previous words, and he still had not managed to remember the carefully formulated apology he had crafted the night before.

Jim's voice broke through his thoughts. "Sorry for that. I was an idiot."

Spock lost any grasp he had left on the situation and simply stared at Jim, nonplussed. He was trying to apologize to Jim, so why was the captain apologizing to _him_? "I do not understand," he said honestly.

Jim looked at him nervously. "I shouldn't have...I mean…..I know I can be irresponsible. I _am_ irresponsible. Pike knew it, the crew knew, you knew, everyone knew it but me. So I can understand you not wanting to tell me everything, I get it-"

"No-"

"Really, Spock, I get it, don't worry about-"

"Jim, you are incorrect in your assumptions," Spock said, determined to set this grave error straight once and for all. "It is not a matter of faith in your abilities. It never has been."

Jim was staring at him, and the weight of his gaze made Spock's skin prickle self-consciously. He held Jim's gaze, and was irrationally satisfied when Jim looked away first.

"Then what was it?" Jim murmured down to his hands, curled loosely in the sheets over his legs.

Spock wanted to take his hand, wanted to bring those fingers to his chest, his eyes, his lips. He wanted so much, so hard, wanted it more than anything and anyone he had ever known, and the thought was almost as frightening as the sight of Jim curled behind that glass door.

"Fear," he said at last. It was too late to run, he decided. Perhaps it had always been too late for him. He had fallen behind as soon as Jim had looked at him with those alarmingly clear eyes. He had felt it when those eyes had spilled over with pain and wept into his shoulder on a dark, burning night. And he had known it for certain while waiting, hoping, pleading for those eyes to open once more. It was not an answer he knew Jim wanted to hear, and yet Jim looked at him with open curiosity without any indication of irritation at the vague response.

"But you're not scared of anything," Jim said, and if Spock had been a lesser Vulcan and a better human, he would have laughed.

"I fear many things, Jim," he said dryly. "And more deeply than you can possibly imagine."

Jim was regarding him with blatant fascination, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. "What are you afraid of?"

_You. Myself. The way I wish to look at you._

"It does not concern you."

_It is everything about you._

He had never known denial before he knew Jim.

"Oh, come on, you can't throw a bone out like that and not expect me to be curious."

"It is not pertinent to our discussion," Spock said stiffly, although he could not seem to recall what their discussion had even been about. He seemed to forget many things in Jim's presence.

Jim caught his gaze and all was lost. "Tell me," he commanded softly, and although he did not seem to know it was a command, it was. And Spock had never been able to refuse him.

He took a deep breath and tried to speak. His voice would not sound.

"Spock."

He did not know what was happening anymore, and that was yet another thing that discomforted him.

"What do you want?"

They had been here before and now here they were again, come full circle. There was a terrible beauty to the symmetry of it all, Spock thought. In a way, he and Jim had always mirrored each other, consciously or not. It was a tragedy in itself, and it was wonderful.

He took another breath and raised his hand. He moved as if in a dream, and some part of him wondered if that was what this was. If it was, he did not know if he wanted to wake from it. Jim's eyes dropped down to his motion, but he did not move away as Spock drew nearer.

Spock touched the back of Jim's hand with his fingertips, a brief caress that said more than he could ever express in words, and the unfathomable expression in Jim's eyes made him swallow down any explanations, any excuses he might have given. "I...I would like you to stay," he said instead. _With me._

Jim looked at him silently, and Spock wavered hesitantly, instinctively making to withdraw his hand. Then Jim's fingers were around his wrist, and he had to close his eyes against the warmth that burned beyond the physical. The man's next words had him opening his eyes again in shock, searching out the gaze that had captivated him long before their friendship. "I'm here," Jim repeated, and he looked as wondering at his own words as Spock was sure he did. "And I swear, I _swear_ , Spock. I won't leave you again. So you can't leave me either, you hear?" He tightened his grip and it was a promise of sorts.

It was not concrete, it was not absolute, it was not perfect, but neither were the two of them and that was one flaw that Spock allowed himself to find acceptable. He inclined his head in a slow nod. "I will stay." It was the only truth he trusted himself with anymore.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I felt a strangely sadistic delight in writing Spock's nonsensical introspection. Is that weird. IT MADE SENSE IN MY MIND OKAY- SWEATS. I went through so many versions of this ending, ugh, but I'm happy with this one. :)
> 
> And, um, we kind of reached the end of the movie so i suppose this is the end? So maybe not the raging storm of passion you desired, but I think it's a happy realistic ending for them and I think I like it kind of open-ended and unresolved….? I mean, they do have the next five years up in space, where they're literally trapped in an enclosed environment together, to get it on. And also, there will be more resolution in Arizona-cough, cough. I'll be uploading that as a separate sequel since it ended up being waaaaay longer than I originally planned and things wanted to happen so I granted them permission and then I HAD to give them a happy ending because there's nothing worse than an unresolved ending to me so yeah.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [咫尺之间](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1469209) by [cindyfxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cindyfxx/pseuds/cindyfxx)




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